


Rainy Days

by ShitpostingfromtheBarricade



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (spoilers: it is), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Bliss, Domesticity, Drabble, Enjolras POV, Established Relationship, Granjolras, Kid Fic, M/M, R is such a stay-at-home dad, Will there be a happy ending?, and a troll, are they gonna fight?, but she does get a name!, enjolras x grantaire, enjoltaire - Freeform, except the kid never shows up, it's rainy, pure fluff, read to find out, which is more than we can say for most of thicctor hugo's characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 05:01:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15574347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade/pseuds/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade
Summary: Enjolras got a call at work about Marie and wants to talk with Grantaire about it.Warnings: language





	Rainy Days

When Enjolras pulls into the driveway, he takes the keys out of the ignition and just sits there for a few minutes, replaying the phonecall he had received at work in his head once more and listening to the rain pelting hard on his windshield.

He lets the waves of emotion wash over him, taking time to sort through each one before he can allow it to overtake him. In the decade that he and Grantaire have now been together, they’re had the time to work through how to communicate with one another effectively. They still get into the occasional fight, but gone are the days of shouting matches and thrown books, especially now that they have their daughter to think about.

Enjolras takes one last deep breath before opening the car door and dashing through the rain to the house.

Grantaire is not in the kitchen or living room, but Enjolras knows he’s home because his cell phone is under their key hook. He ultimately finds him exactly where he expected to, in his studio.

“Hey R, I just got home, can I come in?” he asks, gently knocking on the door. Ten years or not, frustrated or not, Enjolras can’t help the small that creeps into his voice.

“Yeah, sure, but I’m kind of doing a thing.”

Enjolras opens the door. Grantaire sits in the center of the room on a stool, canvas facing away from the door to catch the natural light from the windows despite the pouring rain. Enjolras steps gingerly onto the tarp, trying to avoid any spots that may look fresh, and comes up next to Grantaire for a kiss. Grantaire gives it as an automatic response to Enjolras’s presence, attention immediately diverting back to the painting in front of him.

“What’s this?”

“A commission piece. I think it’s a garbage subject in a garbage style, but it’s what they want, so who am I to argue?”

Enjolras thinks it looks fine, but he knows better than to argue this point with his husband. He moves himself to the sofa that sits against the wall under the windows, allowing him to watch Grantaire work. He pulls out his phone, pretending to check his emails and feigns a casual attitude.

“Did Marie get home all right?”

“Had her afterschool snack and zipped off to Jeanne’s. I called her parents to make sure they were okay with it, no worries, and she has her umbrella with her.”

“Did she say anything about her day?”

Grantaire’s brushstrokes pause a fraction of a second, and if Enjolras was uncertain before, the flicker of a smile at the corner of Grantaire’s mouth removes all doubts that he might have had. “Nothing particularly memorable.”

“I got a phonecall today from the school.”

Grantaire finally looks over at Enjolras with impressively feigned surprise. “Did you now?”

“I did.”

“Well that’s odd, I thought I was the primary contact for the school. We should really talk to them about that”

“I was informed that they wanted to speak with me personally about this issue.”

Grantaire turns back to his painting. “Well I hope it wasn’t anything serious, she seemed fine when she got home.” He resumes painting for a while, and Enjolras waits for Grantaire to ask. “So what was the matter? Was our little girl staging her first sit-in? Demanding equal playground-access for all? I’m pretty sure she’s not protesting the dress code yet, she looked like she came home in the same clothes she left in.” 

“Interestingly,” Enjolras draws out slowly. “It was actually her teacher that called me.”

“Oh really?”

“Really,” affirms Enjolras. “It would seem that there was a calling-out incident during Social Studies.”

“‘Calling out’? ‘Calling out’ as in ‘speaking without permission’ or ‘calling someone out on their bullshit’?”

“Both.”

“Well good for her,” Grantaire says, smiling. “Don’t let the man keep you down, Marie.” He paints for another minute. “Who did our dear girl call out?”

“That would be where the issue lies.” Enjolras takes a moment to compose himself. “It would seem that Marie called the teacher out.”

He sees Grantaire’s smile grow wider and hears the way he barely contains his giggle. “And what, praytell, could our fourth grader possible be prepared to call a teacher out on?”

The dance is nearly complete. “Her teacher tells me that Marie interrupted the lesson by declaring it all to be ‘bourgeois propaganda.’ Repeatedly and loudly.”

Grantaire swallows hard, putting in paintbrush down on the easel and turning his whole body to face Enjolras. Enjolras watches him thread his fingers together, hiding his mouth behind them. “And was it bourgeois propaganda?” he asks, voice breaking with suppressed laughter.

“You bastard, I know you taught her it just to get me in trouble again!” Enjolras shouts, unable to suppress his own laughter any longer. Grantaire is doubled over in laughter, gasping for air to keep up.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for the pay-off on this one??” Grantaire manages between peals of laughter. “She couldn’t even say ‘bourgeois propaganda’ in second grade, I had to just teach her the definition and hope she’d remember it when the time came!”

“You absolute asshat! Why??”

“Never too young to overthrow the system. Also, this was right after you had gotten in trouble for the back-to-back playground protest and petition for longer snacktime,” Grantaire explains with tears in his eyes. Enjolras covers his face with both hands. “Was it even actual bourgeois propaganda?”

“If you’ve been coaching her on the definition for two years, probably,” Enjolras assents. “The teacher wouldn’t even tell me why I was being called in, the legal office probably thinks Marie’s dying.”

“How did the meeting go?? I’ve been waiting literal years for this Enj, don’t hold out on me now.”

Enjolras at least has the grace to look bashful. “Well, the teacher called me in and told me what Marie’d done and asked what she thought we could do to try to prevent it in the future.”

“Yes, and you said?”

Enjolras lets out a huff. “I merely suggested that perhaps she consider…not propagating bourgeois propaganda.”

Enjolras is certain that the neighbors can hear Grantaire’s manic laughter as he bounces off of his stool and into Enjolras’s lap. “It’s the perfect crime!” he declares between continued bursts of laughter. “No one will ever believe that you didn’t do it!”

Outside, the rain continued to fall, but in Grantaire’s studio Enjolras has never felt more at peace in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> "Bourgeois" is not a very intuitive word to spell.
> 
> Inspired by [this post](http://incorrectlesmisquotes.tumblr.com/post/152225441770/enjolras).
> 
> I SWEAR I'M WORKING ON MY BIG PIECE AND IT'S COMING ALONG, I JUST NEED A BREAK AND SOME SEROTONIN SOMETIMES.
> 
> As always, comments are really, REALLY appreciated--I love them, they let me know people actually like my work and give me feedback on what to keep doing and want to change. <3 PLEASE comment! Alternatively, feel free to message me at [here](http://shitpostingfromthebarricade.tumblr.com)!


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